


The Gods of Brendon Urie

by clarityhiding



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Greek and Roman Mythology, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Young Veins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Comedy, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Not!Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-18
Updated: 2008-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In ancient Greece, gods walk among mortals and heroes slay monsters on a regular basis. Not that any of that effects Brendon. He and his goat just want to grow olives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gods of Brendon Urie

**Author's Note:**

> reena_jenkins did a podfic of this fic! [It can be found here.](http://reena-jenkins.livejournal.com/84280.html)
> 
>  **belle_bing:** the gods of brendon urie will smile on you.  
>  **clarityhiding:** Brendon Urie has different gods than everyone else?  
>  **belle_bing:** duh, because he is so amazing  
>  **belle_bing:** I did a presentation on ancient greece today, I have gods on my mind  
>  **clarityhiding:** For a moment there I started to read that as "I did a presentation on ancient Brendon Urie today..."  
>  **belle_bing:** dude, i so would if i could  
>  **clarityhiding:** Can you imagine him in ancient Greece? Or as a cave man?  
>  **belle_bing:** ANCIENT GRECIAN BANDOM AU
> 
> Belle_bing on Livejournal is determined to get me to write bandom fic by chatting with me and saying things that tempt my muse. I resist and continue to write not!fic (this still totally counts as not!fic, as I make no attempt to construct any real logic or plot in it, yes). B beta'd my four AM ramblings! Yay.
> 
> Disclaimer: None of this is true, or real. Except for the parts of Greek mythology which I didn't change (most of it, actually) and the places mentioned. Ancient history is fun, yo!

  
  


Once upon a time in ancient Greece, there was a young man named Brendon. He was his parents' pride and joy, as he was always helpful and courteous and well, okay, maybe not always courteous. He tried to be courteous, and polite, and all that good stuff, but he got excited a lot and was sometimes easily distracted and kinda clumsy. But his heart was in the right place, and that was what counted, right?

Brendon and his family lived happily on olive farm that was somewhere between Thebes and Athens. The whole family helped on the farm with the picking and pickling and pressing and all that good stuff, and by the time Brendon was nineteen, they had done well enough that all his sisters could be provided with dowries and married off to nice young Athenian citizens and his mother and father could retire and finally take a trip to the temple of Gabe on Epidaurus and see about having his father's bum hip looked at.

Knowing as they did that Brendon was a responsible(-ish) boy, they felt that he could be trusted to keep track of things for them. And sure, Brendon was a bit naive and overly-trusting, but they also knew that Brendon's trusty pet goat (whom he called Billy, but as he explained to his parents, "That's not his _name_. His name is something completely different. It's in goatspeech. Humans can't pronounce it.") would look after him and keep him out of trouble. Or at least force him to think twice about things. Hopefully.

One day Brendon was tending to his olive grove (he only had the one grove—the others had either been sold or given as part of his sisters' dowries; just this one was really left, as it was all he needed to support himself, and his father felt that he should have to earn his own fortune rather than inherit it), hoeing and pruning and watering and trying to keep Billy from eating the olives (if Billy ever paid any mind to what Brendon told him to do, he never gave and sign of it, and really, Brendon loved that goat so much that he pretty much forgave him for everything, so it didn't actually matter), when he noticed someone on the road.

"How strange," Brendon said to Billy, as he frequently found himself doing now that there was no one else on the farm to talk to. "Usually people come from the other direction. Or take the main highway. Who do you think it is? A pilgrim? A politician?" In response to all this, Billy munched on the tender young leaves of an olive tree.

"What-ho, my good man!" haled the figure when he came closer. He wore a tunic of some of the finest cloth Brendon had ever seen, and led a sleek and healthy ass. On the ass's back were strapped several bundles, and on top of the bundles was secured a lyre. Perhaps the man was a traveling poet! How exciting! Brendon had gone to hear poets perform a few times at festivals in the city before, but he always ended up stuck in the very back where he couldn't see anything and couldn't really hear anything either.

"Are you a traveling poet?" Brendon asked eagerly, clutching his hoe to his chest. His heart went pitter-patter in his chest, he was so excited! "I mean, you have a lyre, so maybe you're just a musician, but I know a lot of musicians are also poets and I've not ever really gotten to hear a poet, except for a few times at city festivals and I couldn't really see or hear anything because I was always stuck in the back but maybe you're just a merchant and you don't play the lyre at all and that's okay too." He paused and took a breath, then gave the stranger a brilliant smile. "Hi. I'm Brendon. This is Billy. We grow olives."

"Hel _lo_ , Brendon," said the man, giving Brendon a rather large smile. Other people might call it a leer (Brendon's sisters definitely would, as would his parents, and pretty much everyone else he knew), but Brendon was woefully ignorant when it came to things like this, seeing as what little time he'd spent away from the farm was all at the back of large crowds where no one ever noticed him. So he thought of it as a very big, very enthusiastic grin. Brendon liked enthusiastic smiles. They reminded Brendon of himself. Obviously this was a good person, since good people were enthusiastic and industrious like Brendon and his family, and bad, wicked people were lazy. He knew this was true, as his father had told him it was. "I am indeed a traveling poet, one who has traversed wastes, forded rivers, and climbed mountains. The words I sing have caused cynics to cry and softened the hearts of even the cruelest of men and gods, but they are nothing compared to the words I see in the depths of your eyes," said the stranger. Brendon thought the man might have some sort of twitch, because as his eyebrows kept going up and down as he spoke.

"Wow, that's impressive. I've never been anywhere besides Athens and the olive farm and the stretch of road in between," Brendon said, duly impressed. "My parents went to Epidaurus, though. To ask Gabe to heal my father's hip. You might want to look into that too, you know. To see about fixing your eyebrows. Unless you're afraid of snakes. Then it probably wouldn't be a good idea. My sister wanted to go with Mum and Dad, but she's deathly afraid of snakes, and you know how priests of Gabe are—it's all snakes and cobras and everything so she ended up staying home, which is probably just as well, since she's got the baby on the way and everything." Brendon nodded sagely.

"Wait, to fix _what_ with my eyebr–OOF _OW_ HEY!" said the stranger, who had just been head-butted in the crotch by Billy. "What the fuck–" Billy managed to kick the man in the ribs several times before Brendon pulled him off. It was not easy to pull Billy off, and Brendon had a very hard time of it and even ended up kicked himself a few times as well.

"Oh wow, are you all right?" Brendon asked, staring down at the man (or at least trying to stare down at him—it was very difficult to do it properly while trying to hold back a goat on a Mission), absolutely mortified. "I don't know what got into Billy—usually he's very well behaved and only ever attacks me, and he only does that when I do something stupid. Usually. Sometimes he just does it because he's bored, I think, but that's different. And he pulls his kicks because he likes me. I think."

"That goat," the man said in a strangled tone, "is a menace. He should be put down. Or turned into something less dangerous. Like a swan."

Brendon stared at the man. "....you've never met any swans, have you?" he asked slowly.

"I've met swans! Just... not outside of paternity suits. But they're pretty! They can't be all that dangerous. This thing's ugly. And fat."

Brendon was too distracted to stop Billy from biting the man's ankle.

"OW, _stop that_." The man returned the goat's glare as he pulled himself to his feet. Brendon noticed that the man's tunic had managed to stay pristine despite all the rolling in the dirt. Wow. "Anyway. Where were we?"

"You softened the hearts of the cruelest men and gods," Brendon said helpfully. He'd managed to wrestle Billy to the side and tie him to a very sturdy olive tree. Hopefully it was sturdy enough to stand up to Billy.

"Yep, that's me." The man preened.

"Wow, which gods? Like Jon? Or hey, maybe Frank! I hear he's pretty nasty."

When Brendon or his sisters misbehaved when they were small, their mother had always threatened to sacrifice the troublemaker to Jon, lord of the underworld and king of the dead. Jon was said to be taller than the highest tree, with fearsome beard that was more like a pine forest than hair. His eyes were dark and fiery like coals, he never smiled, and just being in his presence was enough to reduce all mortals and even some immortals to tears.

Brendon's father had preferred to scare his children into submission with stories of Frank, the god of the sea. Frank was as tricky and cunning as the waves he ruled, misleading and sly. He could tear a ship to pieces with his bare hands, and ride sea serpents with neither bit nor bridle. He was also said to be absolutely, positively insane, and from what Brendon had overheard on the docks when he and his father brought jars of olives and oil to Pariaus to sell them to merchants, there wasn't a sailor alive who wasn't at least half-besotted with Frank.

The man, however, threw back his head and laughed at Bredon's question, shaking his head. "Naw, those two are big softies. Everyone knows the cruelest god of all is Patrick."

Well. That was certainly news to Brendon! "But, uh. He's the god of friendship, cooperation, and marriage. And music." He'd never understood how music fit in with the other three, though his father had always said that he'd understand once he found a girl he wanted to marry. Brendon had never had the heart to tell his father that he actually didn't really care if he ever found a girl; he was content with his olive trees and Billy. They made a good team, when Billy wasn't kicking Brendon for being too silly.

"More like the god of cockblocking," the man grumbled. "You'd think that of all people, the fucking god of _marriage_ would understand a guy's need to go out and, uh. Never mind about him," he suddenly said in a rush when he noticed the intent way Brendon was hanging on to his every word. (A real live poet! Here! In his orchard!) "Hi," he said with an elaborate bow. "I'm Pete and you're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen. Let's go back to your place and make babies."

Brendon blinked several times, confusion dissolving into smile, dissolving back into confusion, and then, finally, into awe. "Um. Um. Did you... did you just ask me to marry you?" he asked in a very small voice, his eyes large and round.

"Er, what?" Pete frowned.

"Only married couples make babies," Brendon said solemnly. "The priests and priestesses of Patrick are very clear on that. An established and well-grounded relationship is one of the key ingredients to making sure that a child is raised in a stable and loving environment." His parents had made this very, very clear to him before they left for Epidaurus. Brendon, they said, was not to be making babies with anyone he wasn't married to.

Pete muttered something under his breath about that bastard cockblocking even when he wasn't there and gave Brendon a pained look. "You know, you don't _have_ to be married to have a go at the baby making. It's not like the absence of one precludes the other."

Those were some big words. Well. Kind of big words. Brendon wasn't entirely sure exactly what Pete was saying, but he thought he had a basic understanding of what he _meant._ "Oh, I see! It's a metaphor." Brendon laughed and smiled at Pete. "You want me to help you compose poems. Wow. That's really... No one's every asked me to do something like that before but I really can't help you, sorry, I'm just not poetic or anything because I tend to say whatever comes into my head which is probably why Billy gets annoyed with me so often and my father tells me to be quiet. If you want something to eat or a place to stay for the night, though, I can give you that."

"It's not a– Okay. Yeah. You got me, it's a metaphor. And I'd love to... _spend the night_." One of Pete's eyes blinked slowly as he smiled his enthusiastic grin again. Brendon hoped he didn't have dirt in his eye. He knew from experience that dirt could hurt a lot.

"Alright! I hope you like olives."

The next morning, Brendon was awakened by the earth shaking and lots of shrieking and crashing sounds coming from outside. Pete was in his bed, which was something of a surprise, but the other man probably got lonely during the night, what with sleeping in a strange place and all. Brendon carefully extricated himself from Pete's grip and pulled on his tunic before wandering outside to see what was up.

As soon as he stepped outside, Brendon noticed two things. The first was that Billy was standing quite firmly in front of the door, preventing him from going any further and looking for the world like a mildly-peeved guard dog. Goat. The second thing he noticed was a man repeatedly skewering a woman with donkey legs with a spear. Brendon was about to speak when the man looked up, smiled, and waved. "Hey, sorry about the empusa in your yard," he said in a cheerfully apologetic manner. "I didn't think I'd have to go this far to catch her."

Brendon blinked several times and attempted to go outside. Billy refused to move. Oh well. "Um. Hi? Who are you?"

"Oh, sorry. I'm Joe. I kill things for people. Well. Actually, I was supposed to just be killing a few things for this one guy? He said I had to do it if I wanted to marry his daughter, so I did that, only then there was this other monster on the way back, so I got a bit side-tracked."

First a poet, now a hero! Wow, things were getting exciting on the old olive farm. "I'm Brendon, this is Billy," Brendon explained cheerfully. "We don't kill things, we grow olives. I don't actually like killing things, though I guess it's okay if it's a monster or an evil life-draining temptress."

Something suddenly pressed up against Brendon's back and a pair of arms wrapped around his neck. "Mm, talking about me? Oh look, it's Joe. Hi, Joe, still killing monsters?"

Joe stared at Brendon, mouth opening and closing several times. "Dude, Pete's on your back," he finally managed.

"You know Pete?" Brendon asked happily. "That's so neat!" It was, really. Hardly anyone ever passed this way—what were the chances that two travelers would come by in the space of a day _and_ know each other? Next to impossible!

"Uh, yeah, of course I know Pete. He's, y'know, _Pete_." Joe waved his hand, as if this should explain everything.

"Joe and I go way back, don't we, Joe?" Pete said happily. "He knows all about how I'm a _traveling poet_."

Joe blinked several times. "Oh, hey, no. No way am I going along with this shit. I don't want Patrick on my ass for aiding and abetting or something. I saw what happened to Andy. It wasn't pretty." He turned his gaze back to Brendon. "Hey, you. Brendon, wasn't it? Why don't you just carefully step away from the guy and come over here before things get nasty and you start losing clothes."

As it turned out, these directions proved easier to follow than one might think, despite the fact that Brendon was utterly and totally confused by now. This was probably because Billy had begun attacking Pete again, this time butting him from the side, knocking him away from Brendon.

"HA, you missed my cro– OW, DAMMIT!"

Brendon began to turn back to pull Billy off of Pete again, already chastising him for mistreating guests, but Joe put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. "Dude, that is the most awesome goat ever. Pete totally deserves it, honest, so why don't you just let them be for a bit, yeah? Trust me. It's a good thing."

On the ground, Pete was struggling to keep the goat off of him. It looked like they were equally matched for now. "Dammit, Joe! I can totally hear you! You take care of this goat or– Or I'll turn what's-her-face into a goose, just you see!"

Thrusting his spear down into the empusa with one final, finishing jab, Joe let it stick there and studied the scene before him, scratching his head. "You know that whole trying to please the dad to get the girl thing was like... six years ago, right? I finished up that schtick a long time back. You wanna make her a goose, go ahead, be my guest. She was kinda whiny anyway."

"Huh? But. But if you aren't trying to win your beloved's hand in marriage, why were you hunting down an empusa?" Brendon asked, confused.

Joe shrugged. "Found out I didn't like the girl as much as I liked hunting monsters. Like I said, she whines. A lot." Billy kicked Pete in the head, and Joe clapped (discreetly).

"Anyway. That's not important right now. What's important right now is how well do you know Pete?" Joe gave Brendon a very intense look.

Brendon didn't like looks like that. They reminded him of his mother when she was absolutely sure he was going to screw up. He shrank back slightly. "Er. Well. Not very well at all? I only met him yesterday."

"Like that means anything with Pete. No, I mean, _how well do you know him_?" Joe pressed.

The look Brendon gave him was one of utter confusion. "Not very well?"

Joe frowned, glanced at Pete, then at Brendon. "You _do_ realize who he is, right?"

Brendon squirmed uncomfortably. "Is he someone important? Sorry, we're kinda off the beaten path out here, so I don't always know about who's popular in the towns and things." He glanced over to where Billy was gnawing on Pete's hair. Pete had somehow managed to sit up and seemed to be resigned to his fate.

Noticing Brendon's gaze, Pete grinned and waved. "Hey. I think you need to put a muzzle on this thing, it's psychotic." Billy yanked hard on Pete's hair, and the man winced. "Um. Or not. Not psychotic. Nice goat."

"Are you someone important?" Brendon demanded, brow furrowed and hands on his hips. "You are, aren't you? I bet you've been laughing at me because I'm the simple farm boy who doesn't know you're someone famous and important!" He glared ferociously at Pete. It had all the impact of an angry chipmunk, but Pete at least had the decency to look slightly chagrined.

Joe laughed. "Oh man. You sure can pick them, can't you?" he said to Pete, obviously amused.

"I haven't been laughing at you!" Pete insisted, pushing Billy away and springing to his feet. "I've been trying to get under your tuni—" He was cut off when Billy bowled him over.

"Wow. That goat's really better than any chastity belt, isn't he?" Joe said with a chuckle.

Now, Brendon was naive about the ways of the world, yes, but he was not ignorant of the basic facts of life. Namely that death came to all things, taxes happened no matter who was in charge, and that the great and terrifying king of the gods on Mount Olympus tried (and generally succeeded) to get under the tunics and shifts of many a young man and woman, both mortal and divine. It occurred to Brendon that said god was also named Pete. "Shit," he said, backing away and moving closer to Joe, "you're _Pete_." He tugged Joe's spear out from empusa and promptly put it between himself and Pete.

"Aw, c'mon, that's not fair," said Pete. "Usually it's only my exes who respond like that."

"I'm not having sex with you," Brendon said, trying to make his voice sound stern and commanding. "I promised my parents I'd save myself for marriage, and I'm going to do it, dammit. I don't care if you can turn me into an ass or something." Which was a total lie, because he really didn't want to be an ass or a toad or a bicorn or anything like that, but all the stories always talked about heroes and virtuous heroines who escaped Pete relatively unscathed simply by being stern and commanding. Also by having some really awesome fighting talents as well as some other gods on their side as well. Though, now that Brendon thought of it, hadn't all those heroes and heroines still succumbed in the end? Damn. This did not bode well for him.

"Look, man," Joe said, and Brendon nearly jumped out of his skin, he was so surprised. He'd forgotten Joe was there, what with his internal monologue and all. "You wanna come kill monsters with me for a while? He can't touch you while you're doing that, since that's like, a sacred quest or something. Your goat can come too, he's pretty awesome."

"Shut up, Joe," Pete shouted as he tried to escape the Wrath of Billy. "You're not supposed to tell him about stuff like that!"

"I think that would be a very good idea, Joe," Brendon said solemnly. "The olives can mind themselves for a bit. Come on, Billy," he called out to goat, "time for a road trip."

The first week of travel was actually pretty boring, if one ignored the fact that Pete refused to leave them be and insisted on following them about. Joe, it seemed, didn't mind this all that much, but it made Brendon feel antsy, particularly since he now knew of Pete's true nature. Not that he was afraid Pete would actually succeed in convincing him to break his promise to his parents or anything—Pete's forwardness was rather off-putting, after all—but he was the king of the gods. He had power. Prestige. The ability to turn Brendon into a slug.

Brendon didn't like slugs. They were slimy and gross. Euck.

Sometimes, Joe would fight monsters. Brendon tried to help, really he did, but the monsters were scary and slavering and had lots of teeth and sometimes breathed fire, and he was just a farm boy. He knew about growing olives, and that was pretty much it. Usually Billy had to rescue him if Joe couldn't, since Pete never did anything other than sit back and watch. The god claimed that he couldn't do anything, since most of the monsters were distant relations of his somehow or another, and he didn't want to cause a celestial upheaval of family politics. Brendon personally thought that Pete was too lazy to really try. He gave Billy lots of nice things to eat as a reward for acting so bravely, and brushed his coat a lot. Pete glared at this, and Joe swore up and down that the goat looked very smug about all the attention he was receiving.

One day they came to a place where a river cut across the road, the bridge having rotted or been washed away in a storm long ago. They all stopped to stare at the rushing waters, pondering how they would cross. In the meantime, Billy ignored them and wandered across, easy as pie.

"It can't be that bad if the mangy beast can cross," Pete said cheerfully, and he drew closer to the river, intent on crossing. The water immediately rushed up, drenching him from head to foot. On the other side, Billy made a breying cough that Brendon thought sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "That. Was totally _not fair_ ," Pete spluttered.

The figure of a man rose out of the water and glared at Pete. "I don't think you're really one to be talking about fairness, Pete," he said. "Not after what you did to my brother."

"Oh hell," Pete gaped as he quickly scrambled back, "it's Gerard. Frank isn't here, is he?! Joe, you're the hero—save me!"

Brendon blinked, then glanced at Joe. The other man shrugged. "Very tragic story. Pete wooed this dryad, Mikey, see? And then got bored with him after a while, in typical Pete fashion, so he dumped him and broke his heart. Only Mikey's brother Gerard," here Joe nodded to the naiad standing in the middle of the rushing waters, "is really tight with Frank, the god of the sea. Like... really tight. And Gerard was upset because Mikey was upset, so then Frank got upset and there was all this bickering and fighting and that's why there were all those nasty storms about five years back." He nodded sagely.

"Oh," said Brendon. "We lost the entire northwest orchard and part of the eastern one because of those storms. You know, you're not very responsible, for a god," he said to Pete.

Pete stuck out his tongue. "Being a god means I don't _have_ to be responsible if I don't want to be."

"No, I don't think that's what it means at all," Brendon started to say, shaking his head, but then Gerard was calling over to him and Joe, inviting them to cross safely. Pete, he said, could stay here and rot for all he cared.

"Only, you know, you can't turn into a zombie or anything. Because, ick, then you'd be smelly, and even stupider than you are now. If that's possible," Gerard said to Pete once he'd seen Brendon safely to the far shore where Joe was waiting and just before diving back into the water.

"You have pretty cool friends," Brendon said to Joe as he waved goodbye to Gerard. "We were able to cross the river and ditch Pete."

"I know," Joe said, preening, "I'm awesome."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far. Billy had to take out that hydra outside of Corinth. He's awesome, you're just cool. Sorry, Joe." Brendon patted Joe's shoulder.

Joe sighed. He'd been afraid of that. "That's okay," he said dejectedly, "Billy's pretty tough competition. I know when I'm beat."

Brendon smiled cheerfully at Joe before running ahead to throw his arms around Billy's neck. "Even Joe agrees that you are awesome, Billy the goat! I love you best." Billy rolled his eyes and chewed on Brendon's hair.

Suddenly, Billy glanced up and stared into the woods. Then he turned around, trotted over, grabbed Brendon's tunic in his teeth and began pulling him towards the woods. "Dude, do you think he heard a kid in a well?" Joe asked as he followed them.

"What is it Billy? Did Tommy fall in a well? Is there a fair maiden in distress?" Brendon asked. The goat ignored him, pulling him deeper into the forest. As he was tugged into a clearing, even Brendon couldn't help but fall silent. "Wow. That. That's just. That's _wrong_ ," he said in a hushed whisper.

In the middle of the clearing was a unicorn, its leg caught up tight in a steel trap (there were totally steel traps in ancient Greece, stfu).

"Joe, Joe, Joe," Brendon said, tugging frantically at his friend's tunic, "you have to _do_ something, Joe! Unicorns are not meant to be trapped! They are meant to be free, like birds and butterflies and rainbows!"

Stabbing his spear decisively into the ground, Joe nodded firmly. Something did have to be done, alright, if for no other reason than that Brendon was looking at him with this– this– well, this _look_. Joe knew about the look. It was Brendon's most powerful weapon. Also his only weapon, unless you counted the wobbly lip, which Joe didn't. Usually. Anyway, the look had brought even the Maenads (psychotic fangirls of the mysterious and often intoxicated god William) to their knees, and that was pretty impressive in his book. "Don't worry," he said, posing heroically, "I'll set it free." He flexed his arms a few times for good measure, then strode towards the unicorn.

However, when he drew near the unicorn whinnied aggressively and tossed its head, the sharp point of its horn nearly disemboweling the hero, to say nothing of threatening to completely ruin his best tunic. "Shit, the thing's rabid!" Joe exclaimed, scrambling back and away, eyes wide.

"It's no use," said a dull voice from nearby, and Brendon glanced over, curious. A slender young man was sitting on a rock, staring at the unicorn and sighing. He wore a dark green tunic, and leaves were twined through his messy locks. "She won't let you near her anymore than she'll let me."

Joe's head jerked around, his hand immediately reaching for his spear. When he saw who spoke, however, his body relaxed, and he grinned. "Hey, Mikey. What d'you mean she won't let us near her?"

Mikey sighed and rolled his eyes. "Well. The kid's probably okay," he nodded towards Brendon, "but not you or me. C'mon, it's a _unicorn_."

Understanding dawned on Joe's face. "Oh! _Oooooh_. Right. Unicorn. Damn." He turned to study Brendon, who had wandered over and was making friends with the beast. Mikey seemed to be right—the unicorn appeared to like Brendon just fine. "Hey, I don't suppose you could open that trap?" Joe asked, though he already knew the answer. Brendon was a tough farm boy, sure, but he didn't have the blood of any god flowing in his veins, which meant no other-worldly strength.

Reaching over, Brendon grasped each side of the trap and tried to pry it free. "It won't budge," he said sadly. "This is horrible, Joe! What are we going to do?!"

A twig snapped and everyone's heads shot up, even Billy's and the unicorn's. A man with pale hair stood at the edge of the clearing, studying the situation. "Oh," Mikey said softly, his eyes losing their dullness and growing wide, though he didn't say anything more. The stranger calmly crossed the clearing, kneeled next to Brendon, and easily opened the trap without the unicorn making any sort of fuss.

Joe gaped. "Hey," he hissed, poking Mikey in the ribs, "who's _that_?"

"That," Mikey said in a faint, slightly besotted voice, "is Bob."

Brendon stared in awe as Bob checked over the unicorn, put some sort of goo on its injured leg, and bandaged it up. The unicorn stood, bowed gracefully to Bob, then wandered out of the clearing with only the slightest trace of a limp. Bob picked up the trap and crumpled it up like a piece of paper before tossing it to the side. "Bob, Bob," Brendon breathed, "you are awesome. I love you best, Bob."

There was no warning when Billy rammed into Bob's legs from behind, sending him toppling to the ground, at which point the goat started kicking him. Next to Joe, Mikey let out a shocked cry and dashed over to aid Brendon in pulling the animal off of Bob.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry," Brendon said apologetically to Bob. "Billy's been in a mood lately. I don't suppose you're a notorious lecher in disguise? No? Okay, just, y'know checking. Better safe than sorry and all that."

Mikey blinked. "Problems with Pete?"

Joe sighed. "You don't know the half of it. We only managed to get rid of him because Gerard wouldn't let him cross the river."

"Gerard's the best," the dryad said matter-of-factly.

"After Bob," Brendon said with a frown. "Bob can fix unicorns." From where he stood in Brendon's restraining arms, Billy bared his teeth at Bob.

Mikey looked as if he was going to contest this, then glanced Bob (whom he was clinging to like a limpet, ostensibly to check for possible goat-related injuries) and bit his lip. "They are the best in different ways," he finally said slowly. Brendon nodded. He could agree with that.

"So," Joe said to Mikey once they were all back on the road (Brendon wasn't sure why Mikey and Bob were now traveling with them; he supposed it must've come up while he was busy keeping Billy from disemboweling Bob, who was not as sturdy as Pete, not being a deity and all), "does this mean that Bob's a virgin?

Mikey gaped and flushed and spluttered and glared at Joe. "That's– I hardly think– What–"

Walking with Brendon a few yards ahead (Billy had apparently decided to participate in a reluctant truce, though he insisted on staying between Bob and Brendon), Bob glanced back over his shoulder at the dryad and the other hero. "Unicorns are more concerned with purity of the soul than purity of the body," he said mildly. "It really doesn't matter if a person is a virgin so much as whether they have pure intentions."

It was Joe's turn to gape at Mikey. "Dude, you had impure intentions towards a unicorn?" he hissed.

Mikey hit him in the shoulder. "No, idiot. It's just general purity of thought. Anyway, you couldn't get any closer to her than I could, so just shut up."

Meanwhile, Brendon was talking to Bob. "Are you a hero like Joe, then? Why are you heroing? Did the father of your beloved give you tasks to fulfill? Are you avenging the death of your beloved? Father? Mother? Brother? Sister? Other, more-distant relation or loved one? Are you part god? I think Joe's probably part god because he seems to know Pete and a lot of different nymphs and things pretty well, but maybe he's just well traveled since he's being heroing for at least six years which is pretty long, I think, but Billy and I only left home a few weeks ago, so maybe my perspective is wrong or something."

"Kid," Bob said seriously, reaching over to lay a hand on Brendon's shoulder, though he quickly dropped it when Billy narrowed his goaty eyes, "shut up."

Between them, Billy bleated loudly. He apparently agreed whole-heartedly with Bob.

"Seriously," Bob said to Brendon, "you're worse than short-statured Frank."

Brendon giggled, then immediately hid his smile with his hands. "Wait, d'you mean the sea god? Aren't you afraid to call him that?" Wow. Bob wasn't afraid of gods. Bob was awesome. Of course, Joe didn't care what he said to Pete, but that was Pete. After having to travel with the king of the gods for a week, and Joe for nearly three weeks, Brendon had the impression that Pete was not as respected among the gods and demigods as most mortals were led to believe.

"It's an epithet—a descriptive phrase that's a sign of respect," Bob explained. "And it's Frank. No one's afraid of Frank."

"Wow, you're really smart, aren't you, Bob." Brendon looked down, then up at Bob again. "Bob? Hey, Bob, why were you able to rescue the unicorn when Joe wasn't able to? Was it because you're full of awesome? I bet it was because you're full of awesome, Bob."

Bob stared at Brendon, opened his mouth, then closed it, pursing his lips slightly. "Yes, Brendon. It was because I'm awesome."

"I knew it!" Brendon laughed, clapping his hands. "C'mon, Billy, let's go ahead and see what's ahead on the road!" He cheerfully skipped off, the goat following behind with a resigned air.

Bob stared. "...is he for real?"

"Hey," Joe shrugged, quickening his pace to catch up with Bob, "he didn't pick up on the fact that Pete was trying to get under his tunic right away. And he emerged untouched and unscathed after Pete spent the night at his otherwise empty house. Brendon's a... very special kid. In his own way."

Mikey gave a low whistle. "I didn't think people like that existed. Except for, like, Greta." Greta, the goddess of the hearth, home, and healthy, home-cooked meals, was so wholesome that even Pete wouldn't dream of trying anything remotely sexual with her. Well. Mostly. On the odd days of the month. With alternate Tuesdays being exempt.

Brendon skipped along, cheerfully oblivious to what his companion were saying about him, or the look Billy was giving him, singing happily to himself as he did so. Or, at least, he was singing happily to himself right up until the point when an unfortunately familiar voice intruded on his consciousness. "Hey there, hot stuff!" Pete called out, dropping down into the road in front of Brendon.

Brendon blinked. "You were stuck on the other side of the river." He looked around frantically. Where was Joe? Bob? Billy? _Where in the world was Brendon's goat?_

"Yeah, well. But hey! Then I remembered something. I'm a god. _The_ god. Rivers don't mean anything, really. I can hop right over them if I want. And, since you're on this side, I did want. So. Hello." Pete grinned at Brendon. Brendon gulped. Oh dear. This didn't look good in the least.

Suddenly something tugged at his leg. Brendon glanced down and saw a pale hand wrapped around ankle. The hand was attached to an arm, which was attached to a very pretty young man. He had roses in his hair, and they spilled down the front of his tunic. Roses were painted on his face as well, and the effect was really something, in Brendon’s mind. Only. Only. The guy was _sticking up out of the ground_. Somehow that didn't seem right. "Pst," he said, "down here."

"...what?"

There was a sigh. "Don't make me explain. Explaining takes time. Come on." The man in the road ( _in the road_ —there was something wrong with that) grabbed Brendon's other ankle and yanked.

Brendon jerked his head up to look at Pete, who was still gri– okay, Brendon had learned things, that was a _leer_. "Um. Bye, Pete," he said as the earth swallowed him up.

"...shit," Pete muttered, sitting down in the middle of the road. "I don't wanna have to deal with Jonny Walker," he grumbled to himself.

Brendon landed on the ground with a thump. At least, he though it was the ground—what did you call the ground below the ground? Was it still the ground? He would have to ask Bob. Bob was very smart. Because he was so awesome. This decided, Brendon turned to look at the other man. "Um, hi. Thanks. Who are you? Where the hell are we?"

"Yes," said the flowery youth, not looking up from where he was checking the roses on his tunic, making sure they were still perfectly placed.

"Huh? Wait, what?" Seriously, Brendon was just getting more and more confused here.

There was a sigh indicative of long suffering. Or at least indicative of someone who was feeling very put upon. "Yes, this is hell. Though its proper name is really the underworld, or the land of the dead. Ruled over by Jon the Walker."

"And his consort," Brendon piped up, because really, he had paid attention when his mum had told him things when he was little, and he found it important to look like he was on top of things these days.

"Yes, well. It's considered bad form to talk about yourself all the time," the youth said with a yawn.

"You're Ryan, consort of the god of the dead?" Brendon said, honestly surprised. He hadn't thought that Ryan would be so... flowery. With roses and things. "Aren't you awfully... flowery?" And unimpressive? But then, Pete hadn't been all that impressive either, other than being able to easily weather Billy's attacks. Brendon was starting to get the feeling that gods depended a lot more on good PR than on out-right power.

"It used to be Ryan Rose," Ryan said petulantly. "Everyone forgets about the rose part now, but it's not like I stopped being the son of the goddess of fertility and the seasons just because of who I'm sleeping with."

"Oh. Um. Right. Well, uh. I'm Brendon. Thanks again for saving me."

Ryan shrugged a shoulder. "No problem. Pete's head is fun to screw with."

"Yeah, right, I guess it is." It occurred to Brendon that Ryan was sometimes called the Iron Queen in the stories. He hoped that reputation was mostly fiction. He'd hate to accidentally insult a pissy god and end up a permanent resident of the underworld prematurely. "So, uh. My friends are probably wondering where I am, and I need to find my goat, so I'll just... be going now."

Ryan sighed again. "You can't just go. Don't you know how this works? You have to be rescued if you're kidnapped, or if you're here of your own free will you have to strike a bargain before you can leave. It's the rules."

"Hey, yeah, but. I didn't exactly come of my own free will? And you didn't really kidnap me, you rescued me. So how does that work?" Brendon bit his lip and shifted from foot to foot as Ryan frowned.

"I... honestly don't know," admitted the god. "We'll have to ask Jon."

As it turned out, Pete had been right. Jon (called the Walker because he was the only major deity who insisted on walking everywhere, rather than flying or riding or randomly teleporting—everyone needed their little quirks) was not at all scary and was a pretty awesome guy. Possibly more awesome than Bob, though Brendon immediately felt guilty for thinking it. "Ryan rescued you from Pete then, huh?" Jon said cheerfully as he handed Brendon a cup of something hot to drink. It looked very good. Brendon mentally apologized to Bob, because really, he loved Jon best. He hoped Ryan would understand and be willing to share.

"He just pulled me down through the road," Brendon said, wide-eyed. "And I appreciate it, but my friends are probably worried, and I don't know where Billy is, and Ryan said he didn't know if I had to be rescued or if I had to strike a deal." He wanted to drink his drink but he remembered his stories, and he didn't want to stay in the underworld forever, at least not until he managed to find Billy.

"Billy?"

"He's my best friend in the whole world. We've know each other for a long time and we always look out for each other," Brendon explained. "Also, he's a goat."

"Of course he is," Jon said with a nod, not even laughing the slightest bit, though Brendon could hear Ryan snickering softly a few feet away. "Okay, I think the way it works in a situation like this is that you have to be our guest. Which means you're not under any obligations if you eat or drink anything, or accept any gifts, or any of that kind of thing," Jon said after some thought. "But you also can't leave until someone gets worried enough to come looking for you." He gave Brendon an apologetic look. "I'd dispense with the second bit, but hey, we can't just let people in and out willy nilly or else there'll be living folks popping up all the time wanting to talk to Granny or good old Tom, and that, that would cause paperwork nightmares."

"You don't have paperwork," Ryan pointed out. "You just hang out and make coffee for dead people."

"Ryan, it's the concept of the thing," Jon insisted.

"Fine, fine," Ryan said, sighing and waving his hand. "But I'm not picking up after him or babysitting him. I only pulled him down because you said I should." He huffed and stomped off.

Jon patted Brendon on the shoulder. "It's alright. It was actually his idea. This is just how he shows he likes you."

"I don't want to know what he's like when he doesn't like me, do I?" Brendon moaned. "I think I need a hug."

In the days that followed, Brendon learned that not only did Jon make very good drinks, he was also a world class hugger. "You are a world class hugger, Jon Walker," he said happily, snuggling in Jon's arms.

Jon laughed and ruffled Brendon's hair. "I'm glad you think so. I'm gonna go over here now, though, okay? So that Ryan'll stop trying to kill us with his eyes."

"I think it's cute," Brendon said.

"So do I," Jon admitted, "but shh, don't tell him."

Brendon decided later that it was really too bad that Jon had not ended the hug sooner. Had he done so, he would not have been in line to be bowled over by Billy on his way to Brendon when he dashed into the room. The goat was shortly followed by Joe, Bob, and Mikey. "Wow, how crazy is that," Mikey said, obviously impressed. "Billy really does have a built-in Brendon tracker."

"I told you he did," Joe said proudly, preening slightly. "Hey, Jon. Sorry about the mauling by goat. It's not a good idea to touch Brendon when Billy's around. He's possessive."

"Yeah," Jon said, pulling himself to his feet and rubbing his head slightly, "I know people like that." He pointedly did not look at Ryan. Instead, he studied Brendon and Billy, frowning as he watched the boy hug and cuddle and pet the goat, obviously overjoyed to see him again. "So. That's the infamous Billy then?"

"Brendon's bodyguard, yeah."

"Any idea how long he's been a goat for?" Jon asked.

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Jon. He's a goat. Usually they tend to stay same thing their entire lives."

"Yeah, well. Not that one," Jon said. He wandered over to where Brendon was cooing over the goat and and crouched down. "May I?" he asked Billy as much as he did Brendon, holding out a hand towards the animal. It was with great reluctance that Brendon drew back so that Jon could stroke the soft fur, a look of concentration on his face. "Brendon, how long did you say you've had you had him for?"

"Five years this spring," Brendon said promptly, smiling at Billy's dark eyes. "I found him eating olives in the orchard and my dad said I could keep him if I got him to leave trees alone." Which he hadn't really ever done, but somehow Brendon had managed to convince his parents to allow the goat to stay.

"Five years and no one ever told you he wasn't a goat?" Jon said, obviously surprised.

"...Jon. Believe it or not, I know the difference between a man and a goat. Billy is most decidedly a goat."

Jon poked Billy in the side once, twice, three times and suddenly Brendon had his arms wrapped around the neck of a sour, bitchy-looking boy around his own age instead of around a sour, bitchy-looking goat. "What the fuck, that hurt," the boy said. He glared at Jon and rubbed his side where the god had poked him.

"Oh wow. Oh wow. Billy, Billy, Jon has turned you into a _real boy_ ," Brendon said in awed voice. "Jonny Walker, you are now officially more awesome than Bob."

"My name isn't Billy," the boy said in a sour tone. "I can't believe you've been calling me something _so stupid_ for the past five years. My name is Spencer."

Spencer, it turned out, had been an apprentice in his father's smithy in Pariaus when Pete had happened across him five years earlier. Quite taken with Spencer, Pete had tried his usual schtick of trying to get under Spencer's tunic. The young smith was going to have none of that, however, and had dropped his hammer on Pete's foot when the god had tried to get too close. This was obviously not the reaction Pete had been expecting, and he had been understandably upset.

"So he turned you into a goat," Bob said, nodding to himself. It made sense. Pete was childish like that.

"Yes! And then up and left and didn't tell anyone about it," Spencer complained. "I figured I'd get changed back at a temple, but all the local ones were either devoted to Pete or Frank, and the priests were too busy fighting with each other over something or another to notice anything off about me, so I was on my way to Thebes to try my luck there when Brendon found me."

"And then you looked after me and defended me against Pete and oh, oh, _Spencer_." Brendon grabbed Spencer around the waist and pulled him close, leaning their foreheads together. "I love you _best_."

"What about Bob?" Spencer asked, his voice a bit weak.

"Bob just fixes unicorns. He hasn't stood up to the king of the gods to protect me."

"...Jon?"

"Is just awesome. You, however, are my favoritist."

"Oh," Spencer said, smiling slightly, "I think I can live with that."


End file.
